


Under the Aurora we Lay

by lilacSkye



Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢: 黄金魂 | Saint Seiya: Soul of Gold
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cussing, Emotional Manipulation, Let me know if I forgot something, Milo has a potty mouth, Multi, OOC, Surt is a jerk, what even are fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-06 06:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16827064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacSkye/pseuds/lilacSkye
Summary: Turns out Aioria is not the only one with unresolved issues.Basically a very Milo and Camus centric rewrite and reinterpretation of episode 5 of Soul of Gold, hencewhy the Canon Divergence tag (though technically, SoG is not canon itself... Oh well, whatever)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst I do love Soul of Gold, I can't help but feel it really maimed Camus's character, and it sidelined Milo way too soon. But I do love the moment between Aioria and Shura in episode 5, the concept was good, so I kinda took it and applied it to Milo and Hyoga, because I feel that fight deserved a little bit more screentime than it got. I hope it's not too bad, I'm not particularly good at writing fights.
> 
> Most likely ooc.

_”You and I already died in the Underworld,, Milo. Even if one of us were to perish here, neither would have any regrets.”_

So Camus had said, impassible and cold like Asgard's snow covered landscape. Unfeeling and detached, uncaring and rigid, not at all perturbed, or even surprised, by this completely unexpected life some deity had granted them for some unfathomable reason. He hadn't shown the slightest hesitation firing the Aurora Execution at Milo, his eyes made of ice and heart of stone. Milo had no doubt he would have died at once, had he not been quick to counter and deflect the blow with his Scarlet Needle.

No regrets, huh?

What a load of _bullcrap_.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance as he ran across the dark path, making a beeline to where the root of this accursed plant was supposedly located.

He swore to himself this stupid tree would only be good as chopped wood to burn in the heath by the time he was through with it, even if it was the last thing he did. Which incidentally was not that unlikely of a hyperbole, considering his current “dead and resurrected for some bloody reason” status. The purple mark of the undead, cursed and damned, kept flashing whenever his cosmos wavered, a painful reminder of his condition. It had only got worse since Camus's attack.

He burned more cosmos, speeding up. Mu and Shaka had whined over and over, mother hens they were, to keep his cool - oh, what a truly ironic choice of words - and save his energy for the real battle that was surely waiting ahead, but Milo's temper was quickly flaring up, making him see red, fueled by Camus's betrayal - the second one to date, Milo should be getting used to those by now, why did it still hurt so much - and this stupidly aggravating cosmos-draining barrier.

“Fuck this shit,” he hissed under his breath as an eerie mist suddenly poured out of the ground and fogged the hallway, blurring everything out. “What now?”

The fog grew in intensity, a wall of solid white smoke drowning everything else. He skidded to a halt, all his keen senses on full alert, waiting for the enemy to finally appear. Something was approaching, lurking just out of sight, he could feel it, something cold and awfully familiar…

A cloaked figure seemingly materialized out of nowhere, a single splotch of frayed, billowing darkness against the still white. The temperature dropped further, causing Milo's breath to come out in puffs of pearly vapor. But the goosebumps scattered along his exposed arms were hardly the work of the mere cold.

He smirked mirthlessly. “Figures. Would have been too easy.”

He lunged, the fifteen stars of Scorpio burning bright at the tip of his finger.

And then they froze.

His world was set ablaze, searing pain coating everything red for a split second as Scarlet Needle bounced back and mercilessly pierced his own flesh. He coughed and spluttered, falling on one knee as he struggled to catch his breath. The his lungs felt constricted, frozen solid, struggling to breathe as his wounds from the previous day made themselves known once again, paralyzing him for a solid second. He slowly lifted his head and caught a glimpse of long blond hair fluttering out of the dark hood, and a single, frozen eye regarding him with cold determination.

Just Milo's usual shit luck.

“Hyoga…!”

Right in that moment, Mu telepathically reached out to him.

[“Milo, I felt your cosmos waver for a split second. Are you alright?”]

That was a question Milo himself didn't have a proper answer to. _Why_ on earth was Hyoga here? He should have flown straight to the Elysium with the other Bronze Saints as soon as the wall was torn down… if Hyoga was here, in Asgard, that could only mean-

[“I'm fine. What about Aioria and the others?”]

Mu stood silent for a moment, probably wondering whether to call Milo out on his bullshitting or not.

[“He appears to be having a few issues with some sort of illusion.”]

Milo let out a relieved breath he didn't notice he was holding. For a brief moment he had indeed feared the worst scenario had happened, that the war against Hades had been lost.

[“What kind of illusion?”]

The pain slowly receded, just in time to allow himself to move out of the icy Diamond Dust Hyoga - or whatever that thing was that looked like Hyoga - had just released. A thick coat of ice, pointy and harder than steel, covered the spot where Milo was standing a few moments earlier, glinting eerily in the cold light.

[“He's fighting Seiya and… Shura.”]

Milo arched an eyebrow. That was really messed up; everybody at the Sanctuary knew Aioria never quite forgave Shura for murdering the once believed traitor Aioros. He could deny and claim he held no resentment for the older Saint, that he was only following orders, that he had been tricked like the rest of them, but Milo knew better. Loss and despair knew no logic and forgiveness.

The cold, frozen proof attesting to that ruthless truth was currently standing right before his eyes.

He shot another Scarlet Needle, forcing Hyoga's doppelganger to quickly dodge and lose his cloak. The pristine white Cygnus cloth glittered in the icy light, revealing several holes cracking the metal chest plate, scattered in a pattern Milo knew all too well. In fact, he'd been the one to inflict the Cygnus Saint those wounds, quite literally a lifetime ago.

[“I see.”]

[“According to Lyfia, Yggdrasil's labyrinth Fimbulwinter fishes for the darkest resentments residing in the heart of whoever tries to approach it and uses them to create illusions, as to lead any intruder astray. Please be careful.”]

Mu wasn't yet finished that the next Scarlet Needle pierced right through the Aurora Thunder Attack, spearing Hyoga's thigh from side to side like a white hot blade cut through soft snow. Hyoga's lips parted in crystal clear, agonizing pain, but no sound came out of his gaping mouth.

Familiar, too familiar.

“Illusion or not,” he said out loud for Hyoga to hear, “If you decide to stand in my way, I will show no hesitation striking you down, nor will I hold back.”

His hand rose high above his head, the scarlet stinger poised to strike again, eager to sink into the flesh of Milo's opponents, to make them taste the acrid outrage of the Scorpion. At the same time, as though on cue, Hyoga lifted himself to his feet, trembling ever so slightly. He too raised his hands, cupping them together. Milo could feel the waves of frozen cosmic power rippling through the air, born out of the sacred, icy waters the Aquarius Saint had been entrusted to guard by Athena, back in the Mythological Era.

Hyoga's cloth shone, so blindingly bright, blurred and then melted all over his body, a pool of platinum white liquid light slithering and covering Hyoga's body, protectively. Then it changed, became warmer, and yet the power it radiated was colder and sharper than ever as it slowly turned solid, frozen gold.

The Aquarius cloth.

Milo nearly burst out laughing. So that was supposed to be his worst regret, the darkness residing in his heart even he was not aware of, wasn't it?

This accursed piece of wood truly did not grasp how the heart of a Saint of Athena worked. He focused his cosmos in the tip of his finger.

“ _Aurora Execution!!_ ”

“ _Antares!!_ ”

The air exploded.

Gusts of wind and energy violently whipped Milo's face as both fighters were blasted several feet away, a thick cloud of snow and debris now standing in between them and concealing to Milo's eyes. He felt the shards of ice graze his cheeks like thin sharp blades, leaving behind a trail of blood in their wake, but nevertheless he swiftly recovered his balance midair and landed in the soft snow, where he lay still, with bated breath, Antares at the ready.

His left hand felt numb and dead from his elbows all the way down to his fingertips, where the last remnants of Hyoga's icy blast had hit before Antares cleaved it in half, freezing the gold gauntlet of the Scorpio cloth. He admired the fake Hyoga's masterful display of skill, the solid diamond encasing the gold underneath. The light flashed and scattered, painting the air with the colors of the northern aurora.

_Heh, like master, like pupil._

Slowly, but steadily, the dust settled and the air cleared. Hyoga's silhouette gradually came into view: a large, gaping hole bore through the metal, right above the heart, where Antares had hit its mark. A dark, wispy stream of ichor oozed slowly, almost lazy, out of the fresh, undoubtedly fatal wound.

And yet he stood. Unmoving, frozen in the Aurora Execution attack, he stood even in death, proud and defiant, like the beautiful animal his cloth was shaped after, till the very end.

Feeling the threat retreating for the time being, Milo retracted his stinger once more and slowly approached the still figure. Hyoga didn't flinch once, even when Milo stepped past him.

“I don't bear any ill will towards you, Hyoga,” he whispered to the frozen man, “You are not any more responsible for Camus's demise than I am.”

A beat of silence. Hyoga gave no warnings he even heard Milo's words, though Milo could swear he saw a tear escape his eyes, hidden behind his bangs, now stiff and covered in frost, brilliant gold now dulled to a cold, greenish hue.

“That cloth suits you,” Milo said with a smirk, “Wish I could see the real thing with my own eyes before I kick the bucket again, but I suppose this is the most I'll be able to afford.”

A sharp sound, like something snapping cleanly in half, nearly made him jump. Hyoga's figure was now splintering, deep cracks ridged his whole body and drew thin cobwebs over the marble skin.

“Keep going forward, Hyoga. Spread wide your wings of snow and fly to always new heights.”

With a low, otherworldly lament, the illusion finally shattered; shards of dark diamond flew like arrows, evaporating into thin air before they could reach Milo, and the mist dissipated, revealing a gem that could have been a few inches taller than Milo, around which a thick, dark root wrapped its coils tight. The faceted crystal emitted a soft, sickeningly green glow, and Milo felt the violent pull on his cosmos as he approached, so close he could see his many reflections staring back at him, stern and pale, from within the emerald depths of the gem. The mark of the undead was coiled around the left half of his body. His time on this Earth was quickly running out, and now he had to make a choice.

After the confrontation with Hyoga's clone, there wasn't much left for him to dwell upon, though. There was only one path for him to take; his mind was finally clear after days of turmoil and contrasting emotions, his heart set.

Now, maybe, he saw what Camus had meant.

[“Mu?”]

[“Milo?”] Mu was quick to reply. [“Are you okay?”]

[“I found the root. How do I unlock the God Cloth?”]

Mu visibly hesitated for a couple of tense seconds. Milo gritted his teeth as another wave of pain nearly made him double over, the mark now darker and wider than ever. He needed to hurry-!

[“Mu!!”]

He could swear he heard Mu sigh in defeat. [“Shaka and I think it requires the saint's cosmos to expand and burn at its maximum capacity, and a close contact with Athena, which your cloth does not possess, Milo.”]

His most unusual, almost Shaka-ish zen state was instantly broken. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

He was just about to give pretty boy Mu a piece of his mind when the latter, probably realizing his very poor phrasing, hurried to elaborate. [“I mean your cloth has never been touched by Athena's tears, unlike the cloths of who had lost their lives in the Bronze Saints’ attack, or after Aldebaran's defeat at the hand of Poseidon's general.”]

The explanation did somewhat soothe Milo's bruised pride, but if that was true, then another problem still remained.

[“Then what, Mu? Half of us are still missing, we can't count on Aquarius, Aphrodite died, and none of us except for Aldebaran and Aioria can unlock the god cloth! There _must_ be another way we can use!”]

[“As a matter of fact, Shaka found a gold dagger along with his cloth. The dagger Athena used to take her own life. It is our opinion it will be the key to trigger the transformation even within cloths which were never bathed in Athena's tears. Just wait for me and-”]

[“Send it over.”]

[“Milo!”]

But Milo was not going to back down on this. The root kept draining more and more of his cosmos with every minute he wasted, and would probably affect Mu just as well, still undamaged and healthy, as soon as he got near. Now, that would really be a fucking waste.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, where Hyoga had vanished.

[“I faced an illusion of Hyoga on my way here.”]

He felt Mu's discomfort through the telepathic link. [“Milo, you…”]

[“Yeah, I probably wasn't as over the battle at the Sanctuary as I thought I was,”] he forced himself to keep his voice light, unaffected. He doubted Mu would fall for it, but Mu was usually too polite to point out people's uncertainties, and they didn't have the time for that shit anyway. [“But thanks to that, I realized. I remembered. Remembered why I gave my life at the Wailing Wall in Hades's kingdom, why I became a saint in the first place.”]

Mu said nothing. He probably knew where Milo was going with that argument.

[“In this very same moment, Hyoga and his companions are literally fighting gods in the name of Athena. For justice. For the sake of humanity, the same humanity this stupid tree is trying to bring to ruin. How could I ever bring myself to face Hyoga in the Afterlife, if I were to falter here to save this pitiful excuse of a life?”]

He paused, and placed his hand on the magic crystal. It was unexpectedly warm at the touch, though it was not the soothing, peaceful warmth found in Athena's sunkissed domains, in the embrace of a loved one. The heat the gemstone radiated was alien and uncomfortable, repulsive even, like a fever, an infected wound. It pulsed with ominous energy that made Milo shiver in disgust.

[“Mu, we have already died once. It doesn't really matter who gets to be the first to go.”]

The silence he got in response was so long he feared Mu had forcibly shut down the link on his end. However, a second later a blue flash lit up the air, and a gold dagger fell with a soft plop on the snow. He picked it up, and immediately the Scorpio cloth resonated with the divine power encased in the gold blade, a new found power flurried like a rampaging river through his weary limbs, fending off the root's effect on his cosmos. Instantly, he felt reinvigorated, ready to give it his all and blast through everything that dared to stand on his path.

[“What about Camus? Don't you want to sort things out with him?”]

His grip on the knife tightened, the only sign betraying his innermost feelings regarding his friend - or whatever they were - he allowed himself to show. Of course he wanted to 'sort it out’, if by sorting out Mu meant punching his pretty face to a bloody pulp until the fucker spilled the beans and then proceeding to kiss him senseless. Of course, he was one million percent convinced there was something shady behind Camus's illogic behavior, that that Surt guy was just using him, using Camus's insane sense of duty as leverage to keep the saint wrapped around his little finger. _Of course_ he wanted nothing more than to obliterate Surt with his bare hands.

But he was a Saint of Athena, first and foremost. There was no place for personal feelings when there was the fate of the world at stake.

[“He's an adult, and he made his choice. I've made mine.”]

[“... I see.”]

Milo grinned as he started expanding and burning his cosmos, more and more, until the light emitting from his cloth was so blinding he had to close his eyes as not to burn them off, and his blood was set on fire, boiling with uncontainable energy.

[“Just, do me a solid, will you?”]

[“Do tell.”]

[“If you see him, punch him real good on my behalf.”]

The gold melted under the scorching heat of the fifteen stars and changed shape, brimming with divine power only Athena's blessing could summon forth. Trembling under the enormous strain, he poised Antares for the final strike, all his cosmos focused on a single spot. If this didn't do the trick, nothing would.

“Pierce, red lightning of mine! _Scarlet Needle!!_ ”

Pure, godly power flooded, setting the world ablaze with golden flames for one single, glorious moment. Somewhere around him, two more pillars of light lit the night like three little suns.

As the light faded and he slowly plunged into bottomless, frozen darkness, the ghost of a smile still lingered on his lifeless lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I'm terribly late. I'm so sorry, I've been a little busy, and on top of that writer block decided to pay me a visit and stole away every drop of strength I had left to write. I kinda barreled through this chapter in these last few days, and I know it sucks, but at the moment I'm just glad it came out at all. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Tiny tw for super brief mention of blood and gore, and for Surt being a real dick

Andreas's palace was cold.

Hardly an issue for the Aquarius saint, whose powers dwelled on the threshold of the Absolute Zero, where atoms stilled and matter itself collapsed. Far lower than even Asgard's harshest winter, especially now that Asgard's climate was changing, the snow retreating, the warm and fertile land expanding under the influence of Yggdrasil.

And yet, as he stared at the closed door in front of him, silent and composed, as the lapdog he'd sworn he'd be for the duration of this second - third - pitiful excuse of a life he'd been given, Camus felt it again.

A wave of cold wafted from the heavy double oak doors. Colder than the Absolute Zero, colder than death itself, a sickly tendril of pure dread slithered along his body, coiled around his throat, cutting his breath off. A shiver ran down his spine despite all his efforts to keep his traitorous body in check.

Something unmistakably evil was growing, just a few feet away, and still he could not do a thing about it. Just bow his head and follow whatever orders Surt had for him. He had already swallowed his pride and honor as a Saint of Athena once, he could do it again.

The wounds Milo's Scarlet Needle had inflicted wherever it striked Camus seemed to open up and burn at the thought.

_“Why are you fighting?”_

A question he didn't have an answer to, not since that second confrontation with Milo. Athena was not the force behind the most unexpected resurrection of the Gold Saints, of that much Camus was certain. He did not have reason to fight against Surt, and nor did Milo. He could very well stay away, let fate take its course, refuse to offer his help to whatever desperate divine being summoned them back on the Earth.

But of course that was nothing but a fool's pipe dream. Milo, smart and cunning when he put his mind to it, and yet hot-headed and short-tempered, actively choosing to do nothing? Hell freezing over was a far more likely occurrence, all things considered.

Of course Milo would choose to fight whatever evil crossed his path with no hesitation, uncaring of what or who dared to stand in his path. There had been a time Camus would have fought at his side for this same goal.

He let his eyes flutter close as he let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the cold, hard stone wall. For days now those jade eyes haunted his nearly nonexistent sleep, emerald fire chipping away at the thick coffin of ice Camus had carefully encased his feelings, night after night. But it was not the look of righteous outrage, the sting of betrayal Milo undoubtedly felt, what truly weighted on his mind.

The lack of surprise on his face was what truly hurt the most.

He frowned. How foolish and utterly useless. They were dead, their duty as Athena's Saints was already fulfilled. All they could do was to wait for the moment they died again, as soon as Odin or whomever in his stead was tired of toying with their fates for their purposes. Whatever happened before that moment hardly mattered.

All of a sudden, a massive cosmo made itself known, snapping him out of his reverie. He sprung up to his feet, tense and ready to fight, as two more cosmos followed suit, equally, overwhelmingly powerful, three cosmos Camus knew all too well. On instinct, his attention focused on the very first burst of energy.

_Milo…_

He hurried to the closest window and there, in the middle of the storm, a pillar of solid gold light had torn the night apart, a reddish haze casting a bloody mist over Asgard's frozen cliffs and forests. Glancing upwards, fifteen stars were seared into the dark sky, Antares burning hotter and brighter than Camus ever thought possible, a scathing, pulsing heart pumping fire in the scorpion's stinger.

Milo's cosmos burned and burned, expanded way past its known limits, ascended to a whole another level of existence, made it difficult for Camus to even breathe. But the farthest it stretched, the thinner and more unstable it got; it wavered wildly, spiking up and plummeting down frantically, without a rhythm, and then Camus _knew_.

“Milo, don't.” Despite knowing the futility of it all, Camus's lips moved before he could think twice, a soft plead flew into the night. However, his prayer crashed against the cold glass of the gothic window pane, nothing but a smear or pearly fog on the cold surface. In a heartbeat, it was gone, evaporated into nothingness.

And so was Scorpio Milo.

Right on cue, the door he had spent neverending minutes guarding slammed open, and metallic steps approached. Camus didn't acknowledge the other man's presence, his mind too taken by the void the light had left behind as the last embers of the Scorpio's cosmo withered away. Surt gazed up at the sky, now dark and still once again; Antares was nowhere to be seen.

“At long last, the Scorpio Saint has finally burned himself out.” Surt commented pleasantly, as though he was talking about the weather. “I must say I'm impressed he lasted this long at all. A scorpion doesn't fare well in the snow. It was an inevitable outcome, his remarkable stubbornness only served to prolong his agony.”

He placed a hand on Camus's arm, in a seemingly friendly gesture, and Camus froze at the sickeningly cold touch. A scarlet haze clouded his judgment for the briefest of moments, a second of pure rage and pain made his blood boil, the same pain that was shredding his chest and which he _had_ to unleash on someone else, on the one who claimed his long time partner's life; it took every drop of self restraint he owned to refrain from whirling around and pinning the God Warrior to the wall, encase him in a freezing coffin that would never melt…

But instead, he said nothing, and simply closed his eyes in resigned surrender. He could not afford to be swayed by emotions and personal attachments he had left in another lifetime. He had sworn an oath, and he was willing to go any distance to keep faith to it. If his chosen path was to be scattered with pain and loss until its end, then he would accept it as the punishment he rightfully deserved.

Surt chuckled in what Camus could only describe as cruel amusement. He probably knew exactly what had just flashed through Camus's mind. His hand tightened over Camus's bicep, his nails clawed and dug into the flesh, tearing the skin and leaving a trail of ruby red in their wake.

“But don't you tell me,” Surt laughed, mockery evident in his tone. “Did you perhaps care about that guy? What was his name, Ma-, Me-”

Camus's jaw clenched, his fingers tightly coiled into fists at his sides. The glass of the window clouded up with a thin layer of frost that wasn't there a second ago.

“Milo. Scorpio Milo.”

Surt hummed softly, noncommittal. A real poor charade, acting as though Camus didn't know Surt had made his careful research on every single Gold Saint from the very first moment they were sighted in Asgard.

“A friend of yours? Surprising, never thought you'd lower yourself to have feelings at all, let alone getting close to someone else.”

He was needling him, fishing for a reaction. Camus was not going to give him the satisfaction to know he was succeeding in his intent. He kept silent again.

The ice slowly crept along the window pane, covering it in full and reducing the snow storm outside to a confused white blur.

“Was he important to you? Something akin to a brother? Or perhaps,” Surt trailed off, a malicious smirk playing on his lips. “A _lover_?”

This time he had hit squarely the bulls eye, and he smirked as Camus's eyes finally snapped open, wide and enraged and full of pure, delicious suffering. Surt's grin widened at the sight: yes, that's the expression he wanted to see on Camus's face, that was the face of loss and despair and hatred he wanted to see haunt the saint's chiselled features.

More, he needed more. He fed off Camus's fear and pain, thrived on it, needed it to fan the flames of his own hatred.

He leaned closer still, his smirk never faltering.

“Tell me, old friend of mine, how does it feel to lose someone so dear to you, it becomes impossible to even think to keep on living? How does true despair taste like?”

For a second, he thought Camus was about to finally lose control of himself and attack him. However, that crazy flicker of pride, of rightful lust for revenge, was short lived, and soon enough the saint's face was once again a mask of ice, thick and impenetrable and emotionless. Still, Surt's keen eyes didn't miss the thin crease tainting Camus's brow, deep with worry and feelings too deep to be acknowledged without risking the mask to shatter. He could act all cold and detached, but Surt knew all his old friend's tells, and was all too well aware Camus was rattled, shaken by the untimely demise of his partner.

Surt licked his lips. He just wished he was the one who put an end to Scorpio's life, to hold his still pulsing heart in his fist so that he could throw it, warm and bloody, at Camus's feet. Oh well, he supposed he would have to make do.

“I will make sure you never forget it ever again, my dear friend.”

He trailed a finger down Camus's cheekbone, relishing in the disgusted shudder he earned in response.

“And now come with me, with the barrier gone we will need to take a more active role in Yggdrasil's protection. Who knows,” and here he smirked again. “Perhaps you'll get to steal the life of yet another of your comrades. You certainly seem to have quite the experience.”

And with a last, derisive bout of laughter, he turned around the corner and disappeared. Camus stood still, utterly frozen despite the white hot rage and pain threatening to tear him apart from within, not daring to move until the ticking sound of metallic heels against lavish carpets finally faded away.

Then, and only then, the one tear he had fought to rein in finally managed to escape. It shattered to the ground with a soft chiming sound.

Andreas's mansion was so, so _cold_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's it! I know, it's crap XD anyway, for now I'm marking this as complete, but there miiiight be a third part coming up in the future. I wouldn't really bet on it, but there's a good chance there will be, though I don't have the slightest clue as to when that might happen. I guess only time will tell lmao XD
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and take care!!

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, but then started growing too much and I decided to split it in two parts, maybe even three if my muse cooperates XD next chapter will be Camus-centric and most certainly _not_ Surt-friendly.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!!


End file.
